Bless the Child
by iSnuffles
Summary: Franada. Oneshot. "Do you trust me, my little angel? You know that I would never hurt you? I promise to come back for you, Mattieu. I swear to God, if you wait for me, I will come. I love you."


**Cold**

The cross around Mattieu's neck was heavy and cold against his bare skin. Bright eyes gazed forward, going in and out of focus as he inched away from the blurred figure in front of him, only getting the general light blues of a wool coat. He knew the way the fabric itched on the outside and he knew how smooth the fabric on the inside of the coat was just like he the annoyed expression on the man creeping in front of him.

"Mattieu," he heard someone he had only just stopped calling 'monsieur' sigh out.

"But Maman -" he began with a pout.

"Out of the water, Mattieu. It's too cold to be swimming and it will be dark soon. I don't want you to get lost in the waters. You aren't a ship - you wouldn't be able to stand it."

He of course wasn't scared. His body was sore and ached from treading water with his tiny, toddler frame. Had he not been what he was - what Maman called him (New France) - he would have drowned by now. "I can't feel my legs."

"Then use your arms, darling. God gave them to you for a reason."

He shook his head and forced a chatter. "I'm stuck. M-maman! Come save me!" It was a half hearted lie but all the same, Francis started to shed the necessary clothes away from the water's edge of Lake Champlain all the same and made his way into waist deep water to gather his cold bundle into his arms. Looks like he could get another round of cuddling in before bedtime and story time after all.

**Body**

It was the warm laughs he could draw from his Maman that made Mattieu's face light up with as shy smile. "What?" he asked, slowing down to stop chasing the butterfly he was running after with the little polar bear cub he had found dying in the snow last winter. "What?" he asked again, stepping closer to his French caretaker.

"Nothing, my angel." Francis smile at him and crouched down to his eye level. "You mean a lot to me, did you know that?" The eventual Canadian grinned and shook his head quickly, just to hear that again. "Well, you do. You are a very, very special young boy. And you will make a very talented young man - I only hope that I could be graced with some product of whatever trade or skill you pick up on life."

"I'll give it to you for free, Maman," the child murmured. He climbed his way onto Francis' lap and nudged him gently with hands as big as Francis' palms until Francis faked a very dramatic show of toppling over, complete with flailing limbs and sound effects. With his guardian down, he laid himself over the man's chest, pressing an ear to the heart of France.

"Oh? And why would you do such a thing when you know I could pay you so much for such a prized possession?" Francis had been his Maman for more years that Mattieu could on his fingers but he had yet to pick up on the European attachment to funny scraps of colored paper or coins, mostly coins, as money instead of trading a blanket for perhaps a very nice, warm winter coat.

"Because," the little one declared softly, pushing himself up on his hands to kiss his Maman's cheek in that sloppy fashion only babies could really get away with - before they could pucker their lips - as his iron cross bounced against Francis' chin. "I love you."

**Ring**

"Maman?"

He was scared, Mattieu could tell. Something was wrong, something was so horribly wrong he could hardly understand the rushed words that tumbled out from his Maman's lips. "Maman?" he repeated, grabbing a hold of Francis' clothes to pull the nearly shaking man into a hug. "What's wrong? Are you hurt? Did the Natives get you? Did England start another war?" He noticed Maman grew very quiet and all the color had drained from his face.

"Do you trust me, my little angel?"

"Yes," Mattieu answered without a moment's hesitation. He was older now; he could hug Francis around his middle if he stood on his tip-toes. "W-with my life."

Francis flinched.

"Then... you know I would never hurt you? Never lie to you?"

"O-of course." Something must have been wrong; this wasn't the way a parent was supposed to act at all.

"No matter what?"

"Yes! Now what's going on - ... Maman? Maman!" What happened next, he didn't like to remember. Maman pulled away, there was a ring slid on one of his fingers and a kiss to his forehead.

"I promise to come back for you, Mattieu. I swear to God, if you wait for me, I will come. I love you."

Never before had the cross around his neck felt so suffocating.

**Promise**

"He's _dying, Papa!"_

"He can do just that. Serves him right... Going off, kidnapping you, doing God knows what to you in darkened rooms or alleyways. ... Serves him right... the lives, should have given the crown to me too..." In all of the grumblings and curses, Arthur never noticed how Matthew had suddenly placed himself between the English man and his Maman whose high collar could only do so much to protect him from bad images and memories. "I'll send him right back. Write to whoever it is that's taken charge -"

"Papa! It's a blood bath over there! They'd make him kneel before her!"

"-and they'll see to it. He'll be out of my hair for good. Come now, lad, step away from that God forsaken mess." That was yet another mistake that Arthur had made. He tried to lead Matthew away by his shoulder; the boy whipped his head around and sunk his teeth as hard as he could into Arthur's hand. When the British Empire reeled back, eyes looking absolutely murderous, he scrambled backwards and wrapped his arms protectively around his Maman who was slumped in the corner of a room asleep - for once, thank God. "How - how dare you! You insufferable little -"

"I'll kill Alfred." The words tumbled out faster and quieter than he meant to.

"You - _what?"_

Matthew raised his eyes to stare into his Empire's. For a boy so passive and simple, the act of defiance was enough to make Arthur sick with memories of a different blonde haired boy. "If you touch him - if you hurt him, if you have him killed," Matthew began, reaching with one hand to pull out his cross her always wore. A precious ring that once sat on his ring finger now decorated his pinky since he was likely to outgrow it. "I swear to god I'll do it. I've burned him already. I can do worse, more. If you kill Maman... I'll take Alfred away from you forever."

Overwhelmed

Matthew had always assumed that when time stopped, the world would follow. All the little babies in the world would freeze up mid-cry, all the children laughing - the ones who still knew how - would forever be fixed in place with bright, wide smiles on their faces and to all the countless people dying like the men all around him, they would live forever. He was horribly mistaken.

When time stopped, he found that the world was ending. It was going up in flames and hails of bullets. It was being eaten alive by the screams of dying men and their comrades shouting over the gunfire for them to stay with him, screaming for a medic. It was being washed away by the sounds of loud orders being given from booming British or American accents, getting echoed in familiar French that stung his heart to hear. He had completely banned all words from that language from his vocabulary. All but two words.

_Maman._

It wasn't until his arm was suddenly ablaze with pain did he realize that time didn't stop. The wasn't ending. Someone shoved him to the ground, screamed at him for having a cold barrel on his gun, and before he knew it, he had a mouth filled with sand that tasted like his own blood.

"Oh..." He was bleeding. He must have been shot.

"God damn it, Williams!" he heard that voice scream.

_Dieu._ That was a word he would never abandon from his vocabulary.

He recognized the accent. It was one of the French soldiers he had befriended last year. His name was Jean. Even with the sudden sound of Jean letting a spray of bullets forward _("Short, controlled bursts,"_ he remembered telling the human when they first had met) Matthew knew the world was not ending. Not for everyone, at least. It had ended years ago for him but he was praying harder than ever that he could revive it.

He wondered if the world would start to end again in Normandy.

**Dream**

Matthew sometimes liked to think that he was better than Alfred. It was a hard claim to make when it came down to anything aside from ice hockey but he still liked to think it could be true from time to time. Unlike his younger brother, he didn't need to _win_ independence from Arthur. Not really. It had been immeasurably less violent and in his head, everyone should have been proud of him. Maman was clapping him on the back, beaming at him and welcoming him to the world of real men. Russia nodded in acknowledgment, as well as the rest of the Soviet Union. Arthur scowled but got over it quickly, eventually patting him on the head with a sigh. "I guess I couldn't be your papa forever." Alfred grinned and teased him for taking so long to break away and asked if this meant he would finally stop wearing diapers to bed.

Which, for the record, was an absolute_ lie _so gave his baby brother a nice thump in the shoulder.

There was a _party._

With a cake.

And a _candle _just for him.

Naturally, the sting of loneliness when he woke up from his little dream was something he wasn't unfamiliar with. There were not pats on the back, no smiles or congratulations; just a curt and cold glare from Arthur who was at an absolute loss with all his colonies slipping away from him one by one. And, of course, there was no Maman.

It was July 1st, 2010 and the only person in his house besides himself and Kumajiro was a young woman with honey brown eyes, hair that stole its color from the ground and tree bark. Her skin had a darker tanned color than it usually had during the rest of the year and she wrapped her arms around him, standing on the balls of her bare feet to kiss his cheek. "Happy birthday, _Mattieu,"_ she whispered softly, pulling him back into a hug. With a sad sigh, Matthew tore his eyes away from the phone he had been staring at for hours, catching sight of their reflection in the mirror.

"Thank you, Marie," he murmured back. From where he stood, it almost looked like Marie was trying hold him like a mother would to a child that had outgrown their arms. It would take him at least an eternity more to realize just how accurate of description that was.

"Shall we cut the cake, little one?"

He had always wondered why she called him that when they didn't meet until Maman already gave him to Arthur. He had been little then, yes, but she always said it the same way Maman did. "N-no…. Maman–"Marie looked up at the French word, almost hopeful for the recognition she had lost centuries ago when the little boy ran past her, straight into the arms of a certain Frenchman instead. " –isn't here yet."

"Mattieu…"

"He's coming back, you know," Matthew said, pulling out the necklace that held his cross and a ring he had long since outgrown. "He promised."


End file.
